Skrimsli, page 19
‘Every morning, every afternoon,’ the Palatine ordered. Every night she rehearsed Kal in imaginary combat. They whispered moves and counter-moves in the darkness, like the steps of a complicated dance. Kal grew to like the drills; they became a talisman to drive the fear away. Hope remained elusive but focus, concentration and the whispered fragments spoken through that tiny stone opening made it possible to endure captivity.
Gradually clues about what went on outside the cells seeped in. At nightfall, a few days after their imprisonment began, they heard the familiar sound of an excited human crowd flowing into the amphitheatre. Kal and the Palatine stood at either side of their precious channel of communication listening and trying to make sense of what they heard.
‘You were right!’ Kal whispered. ‘Itmis is putting on a show.’
The man’s voice boomed and bellowed, playing the ringmaster, sounding more like his father all the time. The words bounced against the stone walls and blurred but they heard enough. Skrimsli was being made to fight a ‘monstrous ape from the forest isles.’
‘How will a tiger cub fare against a full-grown gorilla?’ the Palatine breathed anxiously. Kal didn’t know, but one thing was sure, and that was that Itmis was controlling Skrimsli by hurting Owl. Kal was certain of it.
They stood in silence, listening to the shouts of the crowd, wondering what it was they watched. But the tell-tale death roar of the crowd never came, not on that night nor any of the others that followed. Itmis’ voice announced each new creature that the tiger faced: a bear, a red ape and another gorilla. Whatever was happening out there, the tiger was surviving and so were his opponents.
Kal and the Palatine began to rely on the noise of the audience to cover more conversations. Every night it grew louder as Itmis’ shows grew more popular.
‘Itmis must be making money. A lot of money,’ Kal commented one night when the crowd was especially loud. ‘He’ll want to keep Skrimsli alive.’
‘Perhaps,’ the Palatine replied. ‘But how long can the tiger hold out, fighting every night?’
The crowd suddenly erupted into laughter.
‘I don’t think there’s any killing going on,’ Kal said. ‘Skrimsli’s a tiger not a cub. If he were really fighting in that ring, something would be dead and no one would be laughing.’ The thought that the tiger might be up to something was the most encouraging thought Kal had had in days.
Information came from the guards too, through their conversation as they changed watch. Mostly this chat showed that Itmis was only paying enough to employ the oldest and stupidest people. The guards’ talk gave away that the cell keys were kept hanging just outside the doors, as Kal had imagined, and that the cells were on a passageway. To the left lay the entrance to the amphitheatre itself, but to the right lay a stairway to a back entrance. A map of their prison, even one as vague as that, was helpful.
They got news of Owl. He was being kept in the apartment where Itmis lived above the main entrance. Itmis took him out on a lead like a pet creature. Spanner, one of the chattier guards, did not approve.
‘He’s a kid, not a creature. That’s not right, is it?’
The other guard laughed. ‘If you’re worried about what’s right, mate, you’re working for the wrong bloke.’
At least they knew that Owl was safe, for now. But time was ticking. Every day was a day closer to the twins’ return. All their lives – not only Kal’s and the Palatine’s, but Owl’s and Skrimsli’s too – were threatened when the twins returned. Kal remembered, with a shiver, how Spion had said that she wanted no loose ends.
They needed an escape plan for everyone, but still neither Kal nor the Palatine had any idea of how they could get out. Then Spanner’s chattiness brought some news.
‘You heard about the boss’ new plan?’ he said one evening as he arrived for his shift. ‘We might get a bonus.’
The second guard didn’t sound impressed; he just wanted to get away. ‘Oh, yeah?’
The first man’s excitement showed in the way he said the next word: ‘Pirates!’
This seemed to irritate the second, whose voice creaked like a rusty hinge.
‘Whaddya mean, “pirates”?’ said Rusty Hinge. ‘There’s decent seafarers being called that all the time in this town.’
Spanner sighed. ‘Alright then, decent seafarers from two ships have been fighting. And one killed the captain of the other and stole her ship. He took the crew prisoner and now he’s paying the boss to lock ’em up here. Boss is gonna put them in the pit against Stripy and the gorillas and all.’
Rusty Hinge found this interesting at last. ‘Oh,’ he creaked, ‘haven’t seen human against creature fights since I was nipper. Big money to be made betting on those!’
‘Well,’ said Spanner, sounding very pleased. ‘That’s what the boss reckons. That’s why we might get a raise.’
‘When is this all happening, then?’ asked Rusty.
‘Couple of days? Boss’s got posters out all over town already.’
Spanner did nothing while on guard but sleep, no matter what time he was on watch. They waited until he was snoring then both leapt to the gap between the stones to speak.
‘This could be our chance!’ the Palatine said. ‘Itmis’ guards won’t be able to stop a crew trained to fight!’
‘How will that help us?’ Kal replied. ‘All it means is that Skrimsli will be killed and then Itmis won’t have any reason to keep Owl alive. You heard Itmis say he wanted revenge. This is how he’ll take it!’
‘The pirate crew will want to escape more than they’ll want to fight creatures. There will be chaos, Kal, and chaos is our chance. In uncertainty lies opportunity.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not,’ Kal said. ‘But if the pirates are fighting the guards, Itmis will be afraid and distracted, then Owl could do something to help us get out?’
Spanner had stopped snoring, the scrape of his boots said he was paying attention to his job for a change and would be peering at them through the grill any second. There was no more time to talk. Kal lay on the bed, pretending to be asleep, thinking that they still didn’t have much of a plan. If only they could get a message to Owl or to Skrimsli. If only they knew more about the layout of their prison.
Kal was awake early, pacing and worrying. Eight paces one way and eight paces back. It was getting light. Kal looked up at the scrap of sky visible between the bars of the window. Bars and walls, that’s all there was in the way. How could it be so hard to get out under the sky again? Kal stared into the sky watching the light slowly take possession of it. Something was moving, high up in the air. It was an eagle, a really big eagle!
Kal sprang up on the bed and pushed bits of mortar through as fast and hard as possible, whispering wake up as loud as was safe. At last, the Palatine woke.
‘I think it’s Sayka! In the sky above our window.’
The Palatine gasped. ‘I see him. But he’s too far for my mind to reach!’
‘Try, Palatine. Try.’
Sayka, with his bird’s eye view, could tell them what they needed to know, maybe even show them a way to get out. And he might be able to contact Owl, or even Skrimsli.
Kal watched the shape of the eagle wheeling in ever wider circles. The silence in the Palatine’s cell was singing with her effort to reach out to the bird. The silhouette grew more distant, veering away. Perhaps he hadn’t heard his mistress calling; perhaps it wasn’t even Sayka. Then something brought the eagle back. It almost stopped in mid-flight, turned suddenly, then dropped from a thousand feet, shocking and powerful as a thunderbolt. Kal heard the rush of air, saw the flurry of wings, heard the scrabble of claws on stone and heard the thin peeping cry as the bird greeted his mistress.
Their guard was waking; he’d heard the noise. Kal could hear him sleepily lumbering about. Sayka and the Palatine would have just a few more seconds. Would it be enough to explain to the eagle what they needed? To give them a chance of escape?
21
Owl
The Eagle and the Dart
It was easy to pretend to be stupid with Itmis. The man already believed that Owl was a ‘freak’, that his short legs and face made him different. So Owl played the part of cringing slave: willing, obedient and afraid. He scuttled about like a terrified ant, the way he’d done before Skrimsli’s arrival in his life. It was horrible, but it made Owl realise how much stronger and braver he now was. And it kept Itmis fooled and off-guard. Owl wasn’t sure how that helped but he hoped it would.
Owl’s days at the amphitheatre were boring. Each day began when Itmis unlocked the door of the tiny room where Owl was imprisoned. Then Owl had to make Itmis his breakfast of coffee and toast and serve him at the big wooden table in the large living room of the apartment. All the time, Owl had to endure being taunted and slapped. Itmis liked to boast, too, about how much money he would make when the twins came back to put an end to Kal and the other prisoner. Owl didn’t understand how keeping two people alive and then killing them made anyone money, but he didn’t doubt that the twins would come back and that they were murderers. Although when Itmis talked about the Queen of Yuderan, the Palatine, being ‘my prisoner’, Owl knew he was going loopy.
After breakfast Itmis would lock Owl back in his room and leave the flat for a few hours. When he returned in the afternoon, Itmis would go to his own room, where he had a desk. He typed frantically, talked to himself and drank wine. Just as the sun was going down, he would emerge, unlock Owl’s room, attach a lead to the collar he forced Owl to wear all the time, and drag him out to watch the ‘performance’ in the pit.
Owl dreaded those evenings, watching Skrimsli fight. The balcony where Itmis stood was too far above the pit to allow Owl and the cub to communicate. All Owl could do was watch, full of fear. But after the first few nights Owl saw something Itmis and the other human watchers didn’t. The fights looked real, there was even a little spilt blood from time to time, but they were no more real fights than those that Skrimsli had with Taze when he was a small cub. Skrimsli was keeping himself and all the others safe by pretending. That made Owl so proud and reassured. While that was going on, Skrimsli and all the rest were safe.
Every night Itmis returned to the apartment at the top of the stone steps with a huge bucket of money which he took into his room. Owl was sure he could hear the man counting it far into the night, while Owl was once more locked in his tiny room.
There was no way to escape; Owl had worked that out early on. The windows could not be opened and were made of ancient green glass, thick as a hand’s breadth; the front door was closed with two locks and bolted from the outside. There was a large window in the roof of the kitchen through which Owl could see the sky and birds flying. It could be opened by turning a handle on the wall, but Owl could not work out a way to climb up to the opened window, or even reach the handle on the wall. How would he get down from the roof anyway? There was no way to communicate with Skrimsli or Kal, no way to know what was going on in the world outside.
So the days ticked past. Every one a day when Spion and Listig might come back. Owl knew it would be best not to wait to see what happened then. Yet what could he do, stuck in this powerless little bubble?
Then things began to change. Firstly, the crowd had begun to realise that the ‘fights’ they had paid good money to see were just play. One night they booed and jeered; the next night Itmis’ bucket was only half full of money.
Then Itmis began to get even more crazy. He began to laugh and cry for no reason and his afternoons at the typewriter grew noisier; he punched walls, broke bottles and shouted on and on. He talked to his dead father, sometimes angry, sometimes crying. He talked to Kal, Madam Numiko, and to the Yuderan Queen. When his hired thugs came to get orders they looked more and more uncomfortable in the face of Itmis’ strange behaviour.
He grew more violent; the slaps Owl received now sent him flying. When, one night, Itmis sat up until first light, his head in his hands, Owl feared what he would do. He hid in his room and was relieved when Itmis finally left the apartment. Itmis was gone almost all day and when he came back his mood had definitely improved. He unlocked Owl’s door, calling for coffee and wine, and laughed to himself.
‘I have been offered a fine opportunity, Freak,’ he gloated, ‘that will make a very, very, very great deal of money and your little stripy friend will finally get what’s coming to him!’
He said no more. Owl worried about what Itmis’ ‘fine opportunity’ could be, but that night’s performance was the same as always: Skrimsli and the female gorilla fought, then Karu chased the red ape around the pit. There was some laughter but more boos and jeers and an even smaller crowd. Yet Itmis didn’t seem to mind. He laughed as he counted the much-reduced amount of money in the bucket at the end of the night.
What was going on? The very next morning a messenger came banging on the door while Itmis drank his morning coffee. Itmis took the message to his room and shut the door. Five minutes later he burst through the door and began to pace about the apartment, running his hands distractedly through his hair and exclaiming things to himself.
‘Just when I could make a fortune…’ And ‘Why now, after all these weeks…’
Owl worked out that something was about to get in the way of Itmis’ ‘fine opportunity’. But after a while of ranting and raving, he seemed to come to a conclusion and slapped his own head as if in sudden realisation.
‘Tonight! Why not tonight? There’s just time to make a very, very, very great deal of money before our little show here ends!’
Then he ordered Owl to bring him his coat and went out, so distracted that he forgot to lock anything except the front door.
Careful as a prowling cat, Owl emerged and approached Itmis’ door. It was essential that he find out what Itmis had planned, and the clues surely lay behind it. But if he were caught in Itmis’ room there would be a painful price to pay. Owl scuttled back to the front door and listened. No sound of footsteps. He would be brave. And quick. With trembling fingers Owl approached the door of Itmis’ bedroom.
The curtains were drawn, and the room was dim and deathly cold. The floor was covered in discarded clothes, and the last slice of what had been a large cake lay lopsided on a plate on the bed. Owl’s stomach growled. He had not eaten anything since the day before, but Itmis might notice an empty plate. He wouldn’t notice a few missing bank notes however, piles of paper money were strewn over the bed and the floor, toppling over into each other in chaos. Owl removed a stack or two and tucked them inside his clothes; if he ever escaped from this place, money might prove useful.
Then he went to Itmis’ desk. It too was untidily strewn, but with letters and papers. The floor all round was carpeted with screwed-up sheets. This is what the man must spend his afternoons doing – typing words and throwing them away!
Everything was piled on top of everything else. Owl climbed into a chair so he could look down at the papers without disturbing them. Owl had learned to recognise the written words ‘Owl’ and ‘Freak’ through looking at the label over his little booth at the circus, day after day. He’d moved onto the words on the circus advertising posters:
The best horse riders in the world
You will be amazed
Death-defying acrobats
Trained elephants
Returning due to popular demand
Galu Mak and her performing pooches
Tickets on sale now
But the papers on the desk were covered with so many words. Owl couldn’t see anything he knew. He closed his eyes to make the words stop moving and a memory came back to him, from the green place, his forest home.
You have to know what you’re looking for, a voice had said. There had been sunlit water, dappled light shimmering over pebbles, and a shape in his hand: the little fish that he wore now round his neck.
Here now, feel the shape, then you can look for it in the water.
His fingers had run over the smooth wood, learning the outline.
There! There!
Then he’d seen them, baby fishes appearing where just a moment before there had been only sunlight and water.
See? When you know what you’re looking for, there they are!
Owl opened his eyes. He didn’t need to see all the words, just look out for one he recognised and start from there. On the very top of the paper pile was a narrow band of pale-yellow paper. This was the kind that could be rolled into a tiny cylinder for a bird to carry. Neatly handwritten words ran all along it. It was a message. Perhaps the very thing that had put Itmis into such a spin. He decided that would be a good place to start.
The letters were so tiny and so neat they could have been written by a mouse. He scanned the words carefully and saw one that he knew: Return.
There! The words around ‘return’ were harder to read. They were not words Owl knew. He had to spell each one out from its sounds, then say them aloud until he had something that sounded right. The word at the very end was the one he worked out first and it made his blood run cold.
Spion
That’s who had sent this message. That was bad.
He worked through all the other words until he had them all even though he didn’t know what some of them meant.
Negotiations: that took the longest time of all. It meant bargaining.
Complete: that meant finished.
We return: they were coming back.
Imminently. Owl had no idea what that word was or what it meant.
Assets must be alive.
Although he didn’t know what asset was he understood what the message must mean: the twins wanted Kal and the Palatine to be alive until they came to kill them. But how long would that take? What in the world did IN-IM-ENT…
No EM-NI-NET
No … that word, whatever it was, mean? Then he remembered Itmis’ agitation this morning.
‘There is just time for me to make a very, very, very great deal of money.’
